


if you wanna kiss the boy

by thekardemomme



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, First Kiss, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Waiters & Waitresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 13:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekardemomme/pseuds/thekardemomme
Summary: Simon’s never smoked weed and he doesn’t have a favorite waiter. But, hey, at least he isn’t dating one of his coworkers. That’s points in his favor.





	if you wanna kiss the boy

**Author's Note:**

> this is dedicated to my main chick mackenzie aka kenzie aka macka’s aka the light of my life aka the simon to my bram aka biscuit aka my soulmake i love you and would be nowhere without you thank you for like existing n shit
> 
> this is based off some (some) of my real life experiences with a waiter i work with. unfortunately we don’t have an ending like this, lol.
> 
> unedited and all mistakes are mine

There’s lots of subcultures within the umbrella culture that is working in a restaurant. For example, everyone smokes weed. Dating among coworkers is generally frowned upon. And, the most important, everyone has favorites. And it’s important to become the favorite waiter, because then the hosts will give you the good tables and will make sure not to double seat your section. It leads to a lot of kissing up, and a hell of a lot of flirting. 

Simon’s never smoked weed and he doesn’t have a favorite waiter. But, hey, at least he isn’t dating one of his coworkers. That’s points in his favor. 

The other hosts have favorites. Taylor Metternich is definitely a favorite waitress among all of the hosts, except with Simon who doesn’t have favorites and Leah who just can’t stand her. The least favorite waiter is probably Joe, because he’s lazy with his tables and always neglects to double check for refills and things of that sort. Leah, the hostess Simon usually works with, claims to hate Garrett, the bartender, more than Joe. Simon thinks she likes Garrett more than she lets on. 

For four months straight, Simon didn’t have a favorite. He had waiters he liked and waiters he didn’t, but no one really stood out. That is until his fifth month working, when a new waiter was listed as a trainee.  _ Abraham Greenfeld. _ Simon had looked at the new name on the list and ran his fingers over the raised ink lines without really knowing why. 

He and Bram have been working together for three months now, and Simon is obsessed. All of the hosts are, really. Bram is cute. They call him Cute Bram. They stare at his ass when he waits tables. They never give him bad tippers. And, more importantly than anything else, they flirt. A lot. 

But Cute Bram is quiet. He’s never mustered more than a sentence or two to Simon, unless it’s something work related. The other hosts claim he’s really funny, and really kind, and has amazing calves underneath the black slacks he wears at work (per the restaurant’s uniform policy). Simon often wonders why he never sees that side of him. 

“Earth to Simon,” he hears, and he jerks out of his reverie to face Leah, who’s staring at him expectedly. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh… No, sorry.”

“Thought so. Line one is for Hannah.”

Simon nods, turning on his heel and heading back into the kitchen. Hannah isn’t hard to find, thankfully, so he can quickly make his way back out to the host stand and ogle Bram some more. He was conveniently sectioned in perfect view for staring, special thanks to Simon’s planning. 

He’s just about to open the door when he feels a hand on his arm, pulling him back. He turns to find himself face to face with Bram, who’s smirking like he’s not realizing he’s doing so. “Hey,” Bram says, and Simon raises his eyebrows. “Um, I’m kind of swamped with tables right now. Can you maybe not seat me for a bit?”

“Yeah, sure, definitely,” Simon stutters. “I’ll tell Leah.”

Bram grins, patting Simon’s bicep. “Cool. Thanks, man.” He nods once and then heads back out of the kitchen, holding his tray up on his shoulder where it belongs. Simon’s heart swoops and goes with him. 

Maybe he’s a little fucked. 

He walks back to the host stand in a bit of a daze, mind locked on Bram’s smirk and how badly Simon wants to kiss it right off of his stupid, beautiful face. He barely even registers the next few tables he seats. He’s a thousand miles away and he’s not sure when he’ll come back down, if he ever does. Bram Greenfeld does that. 

The rush comes in around 6pm, and Simon has to force himself out of his thoughts. He puts on his most personable demeanor, smiling at everyone and asking how their days were even though he doesn’t actually care. One couple waits until they’re already seated to ask Simon if they can have a specific server, which results in them moving tables, which results in two servers getting angry—one for being double seated and the other for not getting enough tables. Then another couple doesn’t like any of the available table options. Then a family wants a table in the family area even though there are none available. People call every ten seconds to ask how long the restaurant is open. It’s a mad house, and Simon’s really beginning to feel it. 

“God, I need a drink,” Simon groans when he comes back to the host stand about 20 minutes later. The crowd is dwindling after the initial rush, but it’s still busy. “I don’t even drink and I need a drink.”

Leah laughs, patting Simon’s back. “You’re doing well, Spier. You’re a pro at this.” She leans onto the stand, a bit closer to him. “And I’ve happened to notice a particular waiter focusing way more on you than his tables.” Her eyes go pointedly to where Bram is refilling drinks at table 35. The best tables are the thirties, and Simon puts Bram there as much as he can without being obvious about choosing favorites. 

“Bram was staring at me?”

“Yep. You two are gross, honestly. All your stupid flirting.”

Simon splutters. “What flirting? We hardly talk outside of work.”

“You flirt at work, though.” At Simon’s blank look, Leah rolls her eyes and begins listing things off on her fingers. “First, he always leaves you Jolly Ranchers from the bag he has in his apron. Second, on Easter, he gave you those bunny ears and kept telling you how cute you looked. Third, he literally  _ always _ stares at your ass and you always stare at his face. Fourth, your stupid finger guns you two do at each other when you pass by. Fifth, this back and forth you two seem to have going where Bram gets good tables and you end up with a to-go cup of cranberry Sprite at the end of each shift without ever stepping foot in the kitchen.” 

Simon opens his mouth to protest, but Leah cuts him off to add, “Didn’t you two split a dessert like last week?”

“Nick and Abby were supposed to meet us in the bar for that, but bailed last second.”

“So what you’re saying is that you two are going on double dates.”

“What? No!” Simon exclaims, shaking his head. It earns him a few weird looks, so he forces himself to lower his voice. “Bram and I are just friends and coworkers. How do you even know if he likes boys?”

Leah blinks. “I don’t know, Simon. Maybe from the fact that he wears a rainbow pin on his apron. And the fact that Garrett always asks Bram super invasive questions about his love life while we’re all standing around.” Simon gives her the fiftieth blank look of the night. “You’re probably too spaced out to hear half the shit we talk about. I imagine Bram’s dimples are very distracting to you.”

_ Not as much as his ass in those pants. _

More customers walk in before Simon can respond. A huge party of 14 who didn’t think to call and make reservations, because why the fuck not? Let’s just inconvenience a whole restaurant. Simon picks a group of tables to pull together and then sets off to the kitchen to enlist the help of some waiters to get it set up. 

Abby pulls the tables together, Taylor Metternich gets extra chairs, Bram does silverware, and Simon does menus. Abby and Taylor’s jobs finish quickly. Bram’s and Simon’s overlap, and they work in a steady assembly line. Bram puts down silverware and Simon adds a menu right behind it. Their arms brush every few seconds. 

“I don’t understand people who bring in big parties without warning,” Simon starts, placing a menu upside down before quickly turning it around. “No one’s ever prepared for it. And, like, they complain when they have to wait for a table to be set up for them. What do they expect?”

“Special treatment,” Bram murmurs, and Simon hums in agreement. “Not many people know how to grasp the concept that they’re in no way superior to everyone else.”

Cute Bram’s voice is deep and silky, like honey almost. Simon wants to kiss him now more than ever. He places down another menu.

“Honestly, our food isn’t even that good,” Bram adds. 

Simon looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “Really? Did you ever eat here before you started working here?” He asks, and Bram nods. “And you didn’t like it then, either?”

“I don’t dislike it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just not worth spending all of my money to have my birthday dinner here or something. I’d come here for lunch if I happened to be craving their linguine, but I’m not going to make reservations a month before a huge event and bring all of my friends here.”

“Understandable,” Simon nods. “Also, I think that’s the most words you’ve ever said to me. Like, in total.”

Bram looks affronted, but there’s also a smile there, so Simon thinks it’s okay to laugh. “That’s not true! We’re friends, Simon,” he protests, and Simon’s knees go weak at how his name sounds when Bram says it. They put down the last of the silverware and menus, and walk side by side back to the host stand. Simon thinks of holding his hand. 

As soon as he returns, he calls the party over and tells them to follow him. Bram lingers at the host stand. Simon knows that Leah will tell him everything Bram says and does, so he makes sure to put an extra little swing in his step as he walks. 

Leah hands him a small piece of candy when Simon gets back. “Bram left that for you.” Simon looks down at it and laughs when he sees what it is—a peach flavored Jolly Rancher. “I didn’t even know they made peach flavor. But hey, I guess it’s a good way to subtly tell someone they have a nice ass.”

Simon can’t even explain that one away as being platonic or as Leah reading too much into it. This is flirting. Super subtle, really adorable, and surprisingly well thought out. 100% Bram. 

The rest of the night goes by quickly. It stays relatively busy all night, which  _ should _ limit the amount of flirting Simon does, but it doesn’t. He finds ways to flirt with Bram: giving him good tables, blowing him exaggerated kisses and pretending to gag when he blows one back, and staring without any subtlety at all. 

Leah makes fun of him for most of it. Simon doesn’t mind. 

They cut waiters around 9:30pm and close up at 10pm. Simon’s the closing host for the night so he says goodbye to Leah as she clocks out for the night. He busies himself with cleaning the host stand, sweeping the entryway, wiping the windows, and adding tomorrow’s specials to the chalkboard in the front. 

_ Dijon fillet, $22 _

“Filet is spelled with one L,” he hears behind him, and he spins around to see Bram standing there. His work button-up is untucked, the sleeves rolled over his elbows, and his apron is clutched in his hand instead of tied around his waist. He looks good, still. “Two Ls is usually talking about a fish.”

Simon turns to change it.  _ Dijon filet, $22 _

“Thanks, Bram.”

Bram nods once, and Simon waits for him to say goodnight and head out. But Bram lingers. Simon tucks his stuff under the host stand and then faces him again. Bram looks nervous, glancing between the floor and Simon, and a few times at the kitchen. 

“Something on your mind?” Simon asks, finally. 

A light blush goes to Bram’s cheeks. It’s so fucking cute that Simon finds himself blushing, too. “Um, well, one of my tables ordered a side of loaded fries earlie. The kitchen put out two. They didn’t want the extra plate, so it’s sitting in the bar. And I was wondering if you wanted to split it, maybe?”

“Sure,” Simon agrees. “Just give me a second to lock the doors and I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Bram grins, and then disappears off to the bar. 

Simon tries his best to take his time locking the doors. He doesn’t want to seem overeager, as pathetic as it may sound. Bram is cool, and, you know, Cute Bram. He’s way out of Simon’s league and Simon still wants everything to do with him. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Cute Bram any more than Leah wants to embarrass herself in front of Garrett. Even if she won’t admit that. 

The bar stays open for two hours longer than the restaurant is, so they’re not alone there. There’s a few people sitting at the bar itself and one group of girls at a table. Simon finds Bram sitting in the back, away from the crowd and away from the bar. 

“Hey, Spier!” Garrett says, where he’s shaking a cocktail. “Greenfeld’s waiting on you, he’s at table 111.” He nods his head towards the table that Simon had already picked out. He wonders if Garrett knows that Simon could pick Bram out of a crowd of 1000 if he had to.

“Thanks, man.” He fist bumps Garrett as he passes by the bar on his way to Bram’s table. He and Garrett have never been particularly close, but he’s Bram’s closest friend thanks to the high school soccer team.

Soccer. Maybe that’s why Bram has those calves he’s apparently been hiding from Simon all this time.

Bram smiles when Simon drops down into the seat next to him. The loaded fries are sitting on the table, still warm. Simon doesn’t hesitate to pick up a fry, one that’s covered the most with bacon, cheese, and ranch. It tastes like heaven—or maybe he’s just hungry.

“You can’t tell me,” Simon begins, “that you wouldn’t brag about these fries to your friends.”

Bram’s smirking now. He knocks his shoulder into Simon’s. “Maybe I would. They are certainly a shining light amongst all the shit our cooks put out.” He rests his elbows on the table, just watching Simon eat the fries. Simon asks if he’s planning on eating, too. Bram blushes and takes one, almost reluctantly.

“So if you weren’t planning on eating the fries, why’d you ask me to join?” Simon teases, facing Bram as he licks the ranch off of his fingers. “Does it have something to do with Garrett staring us down?”

Bram laughs, dropping his chin to his chest. His laugh is so beautiful and Simon doesn’t get to hear it nearly as often as he’d like to. “Garrett’s never really mastered the art of subtlety,” Bram admits, and Simon chuckles. “I was planning to eat the fries, for the record. But cute boys get my stomach in knots sometimes.”

Everything in Simon’s heart drops. He glances at Garrett, who’s still staring Bram down despite the blonde girl next to him who’s clearly only drinking her Long Island Iced Tea like that to emulate a certain sex act. Does Bram like Garrett? And if he does, why is he telling Simon? Because Simon is the only other openly gay guy in the restaurant? It doesn’t make sense, and it makes Simon’s own stomach twist up, but he forces a smile on his face.

Garrett is cool. He’s tall, and really ripped. Simon’s done his own ogling of Garrett’s biceps at least once or twice. What he lacks in social skills he makes up for in literally everything else, from being one of the kindest people alive to being surprisingly intelligent. Simon hasn’t ever really thought of Garrett like that, though. But he knows Leah does. 

And now Bram, apparently.

“Oh,” Simon says. Eloquent.

“Yeah,” Bram nods, wiping his hands on his dress slacks. Simon has to force himself not to look down. “See, the problem is that I’m really into this guy. He’s super cute. Can I tell you about him?” 

Everything in Simon wants to say no so he can go home and sulk. But he says yes, and decides just to eat his feelings via the loaded french fries. 

“Awesome. Well, he has this pretty blond hair, and it’s eternally messy. No matter how much he stresses over it, he has a perpetual bedhead. He always smiles like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, and his smile makes me feel like I’m floating. I always catch myself staring. And my favorite part about him, at least physically, is his eyes. They’re this gorgeous moon-gray color, and they turn more silver when the sun hits them the right way. I always try to stare at them, too. I think he knows when I’m staring.”

_ It’s me. _ Simon’s mind is in chaos, shutting down on him and screaming and setting loose a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He can’t think. All he can do is smile at Bram, his eyes wide and probably full of wonder. Bram is just laughing, like he’s surprised by Simon’s own surprise.

“He does know when you’re staring,” he manages to get out. “Because he’s usually staring back.”

“Really?” Bram asks, and Simon nods. “Wow. I’ve been debating for months over whether or not to ask him out. We’re coworkers, so things could get awkward. But this boy is one of the best people I’ve ever known. He’s the sweetest guy you’ll ever meet, I swear. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He’ll laugh at all of your jokes and listen to every word you say to him, even if it’s boring. He’ll always make sure everyone feels included in a group setting. He spends time making friends with everyone just because he wants to. Because he loves making people happy. I really want to ask him out.”

“You should,” Simon offers.

Bram grins. “You think so? What if he says no?”

“He’d be crazy to say no,” he murmurs, a smile threatening to break out on his face, too. “But if you’re really worried about it, you could just kiss him.”

“Yeah? You think that would get the message across? Because I tried to ask him once to split some fries with me, and it was meant to be a date but I think he thought it was just two friends hanging out. It sucks, because I really want to kiss him.”

“I think he wouldn’t mind if you kissed him. He might taste like ranch and bacon, though.”

Bram laughs, loud and uninhibited. Simon’s never known Bram to be uninhibited, but he loves it, and he wants to see Bram that free with emotion all the time. 

More importantly, he wants to kiss him right now, even if it’s in front of Garrett and everybody. He doesn’t care who’s watching.

“I think I will,” Bram decides.

And then he does.

Bram’s lips taste like strawberries. It’s probably his chapstick, but Simon chooses to think that it’s just Bram’s natural taste. It takes them a moment to figure out their noses, but when they get it, fuck, they’ve  _ got it. _ Simon chases his lips every time he pulls back, and Bram chases Simon’s every time he pulls back. Simon wraps his arms around Bram’s neck at the same moment Bram’s hands find his waist.

Distantly, Simon can hear Garrett cheering. The rest of the patrons in the bar follow suit. In normal circumstances, Simon would be embarrassed. He’s never been one for PDA. But this feels different, somehow. Maybe because it’s Bram, and Simon kind of wants everyone to know that Bram Greenfeld is his.

_ If _ Bram is his. 

When they pull back, Bram’s smile is so blinding that Simon kind of forgets that it was PDA at all. 

“I have to say,” Bram murmurs, “ranch is a good taste on you.”

Simon laughs as the heat of the moment is broken. It’s back to that stupid, silly environment that they always have with each other. Except now, Simon can lean over and kiss him between laughs. And Bram will kiss him back. 

Bram’s hand trails over his hip to his ass, which makes Simon roll his eyes. “You’ve been teasing me all day and you know it,” Bram grins, and Simon rolls his eyes again. “Keep rolling your eyes and they’ll get stuck like that.”

“Okay, mom.”

“Ew, don’t talk about moms when my hand is on your ass.” His hand finds something hard in Simon’s back pocket, and he smirks. “Is this a roll of quarters in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

Simon bats Bram’s hands away, reaching into his back pocket. “I don’t have a boner on my ass cheek, Abraham.” He pulls out the peach Jolly Rancher, holding it in his palm. “It’s just this. I was too scared to eat it because I was afraid it would taste badly. Leah and I didn’t even know that Jolly Ranchers made peach flavored ones.”

Bram plucks it out of his hand. “I’ll be the guinea pig.” He unwraps it and then drops it on his tongue, rolling it around in his mouth and moaning at the taste in a way that brings unholy thoughts into Simon’s mind. “It’s good. You should taste one.” He digs around in his apron to get another one, and offers it to Simon. 

But Simon just bypasses his extended hand, grabbing his wrist instead. He pulls Bram forward and presses a firm kiss to his lips, tasting the remnants of the peach candy on his lips and tongue. When he moans, it’s for an entirely different reason. 

“Maybe we should go back to yours,” Simon mumbles against his lips. “Where Garrett won’t drool every time we kiss. And where you can finally show me these amazing soccer calves that all the girls keep bragging about.”

Bram giggles—honest to god giggles—and tucks the uneaten peach Jolly Rancher back into his apron. “Sounds like a plan, Si. Let me just go pay for these fries.” At Simon’s confusion, Bram blushes. “I lied about the kitchen making too many. I ordered this for us—for you—because I knew it was the best way to get you to agree to come sit with me.”

“Aw, such a romantic. You’re so cute.” He kisses Bram again, and again, and once more. Then he lets him go pay. 

Simon doesn’t say it, because he has an image to maintain—but Bram could’ve gotten Simon to agree to sit with him without any bribery. Simon would do pretty much anything Bram wanted to do. Especially now that he knows how amazing it is to kiss him. 

Bram comes back quickly, meeting Simon at the door. “Ready to go?” He asks, and Simon nods, reaching down to lace their fingers together. Bram squeezes his hand gently and then, because he’s a fucking romantic, opens the door him.

If Simon didn’t have a favorite waiter before, he definitely does now.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @femmevilde


End file.
